My Immortal
by ariti
Summary: She can still feel his touch, hear his voice, love his soul, although it's a year since his death.


_I'm so tired of being here_

_Suppressed by all my childish fears_

_And if you have to leave_

_I wish that you would just leave_

_Because your presence still lingers here_

_And it won't leave me alone_

Minerva sat silently as the head of the Order, barely listening as the Gryffndor Trio argued.

Sometimes she could swear she'd felt his gentle touch on her shoulder, supporting her as she fought her way through a problem, or stood at the scene of a battle and stared down at the Death Eater she'd killed, or when she'd retreated to the privacy of her rooms to scream and sob in despair. Sometimes she could feel a featherlike touch or breath on her lips in the moment when she was summoning up the courage to leave her rooms to face another day, the way he had used to when he had been alive.

And sometimes, in that time between being awake and falling asleep, she could close her eyes and know that some ethereal, spiritual form of her husband was lying next to her, giving her warmth from his non-existent body and when that was happening, she could accept that he wasn't totally gone.

_These wounds won't seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_

_There's just too much that time will not erase_

A year. A whole year since her heart, her soul, her entire reason for living had been killed. Not died – he wasn't dead. Maybe she was the victim of an overactive imagination, or maybe her lover's death had pushed her over the edge of sanity further than she would admit to herself. Or maybe his spirit was still with her, looking over her and giving life to her when she wanted to lie down and give up, letting her own spirit slip away to wherever it was that he was.

Everyone was worried about her, Minerva knew that. She was detached from life, living in the memory of a love that no one knew about. No one could understand why the strong witch had fallen apart, only seeing the torment concealed behind a blank expression and few words. Yet she found that she couldn't talk about it to anyone. A couple of times, she'd tried to tell Harry about the phantom Albus – she had an odd feeling that maybe he was being haunted too – but she'd felt a soft, invisible finger press against her lips, silencing her.

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears_

_When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears_

_And I've held your hand through all of these years_

_But you still have all of me_

Albus sighed, reaching out a hand to stroke his wife's cheek. She closed her eyes briefly at the phantom touch, the familiar feeling of misery and longing welling up inside her.

It had been a year. Albus longed for either life or death – either one, as long as it had Minerva in it. Part of him felt bad for thinking that, but seeing her sorrow and knowing it was caused by their separation made him realise that perhaps she would embrace death, knowing that it was where he was.

Being halfway between life and death had taken its toll on Albus. He didn't have enough life to return himself completely to the world of living, but his soul was too tied to Minerva's life to allow him to die. It was tiring, being a disembodied nearly-spirit. He could see Minerva's struggle, wanted to fold her in his arms and never let her go, but could only manage to physically project his touch for short seconds. He could really only watch, except for when she was nearly asleep, a time when all beings floated between life and death.

_You used to captivate me_

_By your resonating light_

_But now I'm bound by the life you left behind_

_Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams_

_Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me_

Minerva had no wish to live, no wish to wake up again nor to see the light of day. But something was holding her away from death. Maybe it was Albus' spirit lifting her own up and giving her just enough willpower to remain breathing, or maybe fate had ordained her to fulfil some task that was unclear to her.

_These wounds won't seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_

_There's just too much that time will not erase_

Everything reminded her of him. Their bed, where she had slept in his arms for forty years. Their school, where they had met for the first time. The oak tree by the lake, where he had proposed to her. The rose garden at Hogwarts, where they had married. The Infirmary, where their daughter (who had died seven years ago) had been born. The grubby, dank kitchen of Grimmauld Place, where they had spent many sleepless nights with the Order, trying to come up with plans to foil Voldemort. And the Astronomy Tower. He had died there. It was the place where her soul had been ripped away from her. Because her soul always had, and still did, belong to him.

Minerva felt a sudden pain in her chest, the feeling of grief. She heard people gasp and rush to her as she collapsed, but ignored them, simply feeling. Feeling the pain of heartbreak, the pain of separation, the pain of only having half your soul.

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears_

_When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears_

_And I've held your hand through all of these years_

_But you still have all of me_

Albus watched Minerva collapse, and rushed to her side. The world seemed to tilt slightly, and he put his hand on her forehead, feeling it cold. Then he realised that he could feel. He looked down at himself, and realised that he had a body again. But – not exactly the same body, and not exactly a body. More a physical spirit, not quite solid but most definitely there. Minerva was standing too, although she was lying down too. The Order was staring at the two of them in fear. Albus smiled down at his wife, enveloping her in the wings that he had gained from his bond with Fawkes, and kissed her.

_I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone_

_And though you're still with me_

_I've been alone all along._

Albus and Minerva felt the world fade around them, felt themselves leaving the world, fading into death gently, but both were content. Albus was gone, Minerva was gone – but they were both gone. And they would always be _both_, now.


End file.
